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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25936042">concealed glances</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antarktica/pseuds/mangopancakes'>mangopancakes (Antarktica)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mamamoo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Coming of Age, Eventual Romance, F/F, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:41:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,659</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25936042</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antarktica/pseuds/mangopancakes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>what do you do when the world is begging to find your other half, and you can't even find yourself?</p><p> </p><p>inspired by the half of it</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ahn Hyejin | Hwasa/Jung Wheein</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. dissonance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>everything written is utterly fictional.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yongsun had found her, knees deep in the ground, the rain soaking every inch of her, after the news broke. Her sister had looked as hopeless as she felt. The staccato of the raindrops seemed to grow harder each passing second, Hyejin could care less. They were supposed to go visit their parents the next day, as their father called them at midnight today that their mother’s condition wasn’t getting any better. </p><p>“My daughters,” He called them, voice laced with worry and old age. “I hope you two will come visit us soon, I know we’ve seen each other last week but—” Yongsun had cut off their father then. “We will, soon as tomorrow!” And then there was silence. And a sigh. Hyejin did not understand the silence. </p><p>“What about school for the both of you?”  </p><p>That question caught Yongsun off guard. And it was Hyejin’s turn to take the phone from her older sister. </p><p>“We will catch up with requirements—” Their father cleared his throat from the other side of the line, attempting to reason out better days to visit them in spite of his request.”—and it’s not like we’d skip every day to see our parents.” That earned them a few bouts of laughter. Their father’s happiness rarely revealed itself ever since their mother had gotten sick.  </p><p>It didn’t fall short to realization they might not see it anymore. </p><p>Hyejin felt sick to her stomach. Hands tried to lift her off the ground but her body had gone catatonic. The tears seemed to have stopped yet she could still hear sobbing. Moments passed with the pair of hands rocking Hyejin’s body into wakefulness, the coldness of the rain never getting to either of them. </p><p>Was the world so cruel to force them to grow up so fast? Hyejin didn’t have an answer to that yet. She’d only started junior high school. Yet her body seemed to understand, gathering itself into waking up. Her mind was in a state of shock she had been convinced her world has ended from this point. </p><p>“Hyejinnie, please…get up, you’re going to get sick…in this rain—” Yongsun managed, in between sobs and realization they’d just lost their parents. She desperately tried to reach out to Hyejin. Then their eyes meet.  </p><p>Yongsun hadn’t been certain since then if the one who got up from the puddle had been her sister.  </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p><em> “Hyejinnie,”  </em> <em> Yongsun’s </em> <em>  voice made her stomach feel uncanny. She usually feels comforted whenever her sister calls her—not this time. “—please come back home immediately. You know why.” </em> </p><p><em> Her surroundings seemed to have been distorted. But she stood up, gathered her things—an eraser spilling out of her case—it didn’t matter; she shoved her belongings inside her backpack and let her short limbs trudge her out of the library as fast as they could.  </em> </p><p><em> She ran fast to where she had parked her bicycle in its rusty-looking glory. All sorts of thoughts rushed into her head, growing stronger each second, she pedaled her way back home with heavy breaths. Home was 5 minutes away. </em> </p><p><em> Thud. </em> </p><p><em>She had been five minutes and a province away too late. One of the stay-at-home caretakers had made it their prerogative to visit them at their place. Hyejin knew before she had even entered the living room. She took her shoes off in a rush, only to hear an old woman’s voice echoing from the living room, effectively stopping her pace. </em> <br/> <br/><em>“It was going to be too cruel to disclose this to you both through a phone call so I went uptown to deliver the news… that your parents had passed away. Your mother’s heart had given out—and as for your father—"</em> </p><p><em> “He was healthy.” Hyejin said, making sure her voice didn’t tremble. “Did he go with her?” </em> </p><p><em> The caretaker nodded. Her chest ached. Somehow inside of her she knew that this would happen. That’s what the stories her mother told her and her sister had always said. And she’d believed in them with her whole heart. Yongsun seemed to know the conclusion she got to and reached her arms out to her. Hyejin took a step back, hoping if she’d closed her eyes she would wake up from this nightmare. </em> </p><p><em> If love bound two people like this and hurt the ones they leave behind—it wasn’t worth it for Hyejin. </em>  </p><p><em> The rain had just been setting in when she’d gone inside their house. Her staggering footsteps echoed through the floorboards as she stomps out of the apartment—in blinded rage and grief—and the human incapability to face loss. </em> </p><p><em> Love deceives and is commandeered by the face of the devil that takes the important people away from her. </em> </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>The soft pitter-patter of the chords echoed through the room, almost in sync with the harmonious chirping of the birds by the windowsill. Her slender hands pressed keys in accordance of the sheet that was in front of her. Her heart always felt still—in peace—whenever she’d played the piano. The ever-growing storm inside her resting into a calm that made the keys stagger. The once tranquil piece played at piano recitals, turning into a fiery arrangement of opaque grief that haunted Hyejin for so long.  </p><p>The keys did not answer her questions. It only seemed to be an instrument of listening. The beat grew impatient—Hyejin wanted answers. She had too many people listening to her, her whole life, and it did not do her any good. Perhaps trying to beat it out of the poor piano was also a bad idea too. </p><p>It didn’t matter anyway. She played and played and played— </p><p>“Hey.” </p><p>Her soul felt like it had been pulled out of the abyss. She flutters her eyes close for a moment, wiping the sweat from her temple before looking the intruder in the eye. He looked obscure from her point of view. His mouth opened yet no sound seemed to come out. That or she turned deaf. </p><p>“What is it?” </p><p>“Are you the one who—” He was of fair height. Sweaty. A jock. She didn’t want to stereotype but it was her customer demographic per se.  </p><p>“I don’t take rush papers. Nothing over than ten pages.” Hyejin gathered her stuff from around her as she recited her gospel. “The ratings are here and my details are also here. Memorize this, write it down, then shred it after.” The guy vaguely nods at her—she didn’t care—as he steps to the side as she makes her way out of the practice room. </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>“Hyejin-ah, are you home?” Her older sister’s voice echoes from beneath her after the sound of the door slamming shut. They’ve gotten home at different times most days; her sister was early. Hyejin lets her bag end up on the floor with a thud. A sign that she was home. She was the only one who made the most noise in the house anyway. She didn’t hear Yongsun’s voice asking for the second time and instead only heard plates and utensils clattering downstairs.  </p><p>She slips off her uniform and puts a comfortable sweater and trackpants on before making her way downstairs.  </p><p>“What did I tell you about dragging your feet on the floor?” Yongsun reprimanded her like clockwork.  </p><p>“At least you know I’m home.” Her older sister rolls her eyes at her while Hyejin laughed. </p><p>Her sister sighed in response. Hyejin helps in setting the table, making sure everything was set according to what she had been taught. She walks back to the kitchen and takes the side dishes from her older sister. This was how they lived every day. Or not, at least lately, with Yongsun’s work keeping her busy and away on the hours Hyejin was home.  </p><p>“It’s been so long since we had dinner together. It feels nice.” Yongsun had always been someone admirable for Hyejin. Even if she could not express it very well. Back then, before everything that had transpired—Hyejin felt comfortable showing her sister affection. Now she finds it difficult. It was like a rope that keeps slipping off her grasps, dangling in front of her and pulling back when she’s about to grab it. </p><p>Hyejin entertained her older sister’s inquiry. About how she was. About how school was. Or if she had found her ideal college university. Or if she had a boyfriend or anyone; she rolled her eyes here, Yongsun had been teasing her because she caught her phone with a lot of notifications one time at dinner. Her sister had been respectful enough not to peek but it was just the cash transfers from her <em> small  </em>business.  </p><p>There was a false pretense to her older sister’s demeanor today. The way she talked and excessively smiled with her eyes. She’d never done that since then. Her laughter sounded forced. It just seemed odd to Hyejin. </p><p>“Okay, stop for a moment, unnie.” </p><p>Yongsun is startled when Hyejin cuts her off. “Why?” </p><p>“Why are you home early?” </p><p>“I took off work early to spend time with you.” Yongsun said, unfazed and scratched her arm as if something had bit her. </p><p>“Don’t lie to me.” </p><p>“I really did! Trust me!” Yongsun attempted to pinky swear with her younger sister but Hyejin did not meet her halfway. Instead, she ate her dinner faster and stomped off stairs. Hyejin didn’t take it well when Yongsun tried to lie; her older sister know that she has spot-on instincts and could not possibly, at any instance, lie to her. They were sisters, for heaven’s sake. The thought of Yongsun pushing through a lie settled in her stomach like she had just been force fed bitter gourd. It’s one of those secrets Hyejin was familiar with the magnitude of, but not of its content.</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>She finds herself in a mockery of the day two of the most important people in her life left the world. The morning played out like usual. Hyejin would wake up, wash her face, and then go downstairs where breakfast was already served. She would feel the sides of her lips rise up into cheeky grin. Her father referred to it as something she got from her mother. Hyejin never bothered to prove him otherwise; he was right after all. Yongsun would greet her by ruffling her hair into an even messier ensemble. She would act like she hated it and sneered at her sister.  </p><p>Only this day had been different. This illusion, whatever it was, it had been the day after the incident. Uneasiness rose from the pit of her stomach to her throat. They were all laughing as usual, over something silly Yongsun had done. Suddenly, it seemed like her body and soul had been completely separated and she was watching herself from a third party in the room.  </p><p>It felt like she was intruding. In the own comfort of her home, even if it was a mockery of what she could not and will never have again. It made her heart ache. Her family shared laughter. The warmness of it all clawed painfully on Hyejin’s chest. The sight felt like she had let herself be subjected to a generous scalding amount of water. But it never woke her up. </p><p>Maybe this was real. Her chest raised up and down, feeling herself try to catch her breath through the myriad of emotions that clouded her like a suffocating mist. She looks everywhere in their living room, anything at all, but never setting her sight on the display in front of her. It hurt and the pain made her want to scream.  </p><p>Her mouth opened, yet no sound comes out. It seemed as if it got swallowed down by the swarming darkness in the picture. Her body starts shaking involuntarily, she catches herself short on breath—maybe this was what drowning felt like. </p><p>“Hyejin-ah! You’re safe—you're safe...”  </p><p>The cold breeze from her open window shoved her into a lucid state. Yongsun’s hands had been firmly set on her shoulders. They trembled. And in a split second, she opened her eyes and felt herself get pulled into a tight and strong embrace. Air felt short for her still, she breathes erratically in Yongsun’s arms, unsettled with the environment. Disoriented. </p><p>Nightmares. That’s what most called it. Hyejin referred to it as her delusions. Yongsun never referred to it as anything at all, she would just always be there when Hyejin had her episodes. Maybe she’d screamed again. She sleep-walked and talked. The doctor said they were her strongest emotions being processed by the subconscious. It was a scientific explanation. All that Hyejin knew was that it shaped her teenage years into a wreck of emotionally-stunted growth.  </p><p>Yongsun cradled her even closer in her arms. Moments pass and she felt her body settling in once again. Sweat gathered on her forehead, arms, everywhere it seemed. Despite that, her older sister still held her close.  Yongsun’s embraces had always felt secure to her. It gave her comfort—she never thanked her sister enough. Hyejin doubted words will be enough. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. resonance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Wheein</span>
  <span> was 12 when her family moved back to their hometown at the North </span>
  <span>Jeolla</span>
  <span> Province—Jeonju, sitting at the heart of the Hanok village. Modernity and tradition mixed in one. Just like her. Her family initially moved out of Korea and resided in the States for a while, at New York City, nonetheless. The air never felt like home there. She had distinct Asian features and distinction didn’t sit well with the population she was surrounded with. Although she was able to join the choir there in grade school, despite the talents her mother reassured her that she had, she always felt like she was not enough.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And then they moved back to South Korea. The air felt like home. She adored the scenery. Birds never chirped soundly in New York. It didn’t smell of gasoline and the rotting smell of garbage in an alleyway passing by. The grasses were real ones too, not synthetic. It all felt right to her heart. Until she’d open her ears at the school. She transferred halfway into middle school, that meant new environment—new people to deal with. Overestimating people’s kindness, she wore her smile and tried to interact with the rest of her peers. They never met her halfway. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There it was. The cruel association with being distinct—exotic at most—at an environment she should be comfortable in and not singled out. She was born in this country, spoke just as the same, and moreover looked just the same. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The place might change but the people never does</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s a thought she constantly finds herself thinking, whenever she participated in class, whenever she walked around. Whenever she existed in this plane of existence.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It became easier, for the lack of a better word. Honestly to her, it seemed like as life progresses</span>
  <span>,</span>
  <span> people care less about who you are in the academic field. Then there will be a restart when it all ends and everyone else imposes their own reality on you once again. She was a senior now, in high school, about to embark on her journey to college exams and eventually college. It never sat right with her how she’d also became a pioneer in the university’s high school choir, but if distinctions had to be positive, it was that she had an angelic and honey-like voice. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was one of the things she’d prided herself in. Choir was also where she first felt she belonged for once. They didn’t scrutinize her background and ‘foreign’ history. They listened to her voice and welcomed her with open arms. Although, there were always snickering and laughter in the background whenever the musical sheets were handed out by the pianist and she sometimes could not help but think if it was about her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Their adviser lets them take a moment after harmonizing on one chord for the last half hour. Wheein rearranged her bearings, relaxing her posture and finding herself spending the moment with attention awfully drawn to the sole pianist their club had for years. If she had to list one thing that was consistent throughout her life here was that it had always been the same pianist that’s been sitting two rows ahead of her. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ahn Hyejin. Wheein had fairly good memory. And she was certain there was a period when the pianist kept her hair in a really short cut—a tomboyish look that she sported a few years ago</span>
  <span> (she’d always liked girls with short hair)—</span>
  <span>Wheein wondered why she had decided to grow her hair longer. Not that she looked any different. She still had her charms. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Charms? Since when was that word part of her vocabulary?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The bell suddenly rings and that was the signal that practice was over and any leftover thoughts about charms and Ahn Hyejin settled at the back of Wheein’s mind. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Jung Wheein.” Moonbyul. The main alto of the choir called out to her. They’ve been hanging out for a while—well, Wheein lets Moonbyul take her where she wanted to and Wheein tries to enjoy the scene as much as possible. Moonbyul is one of the few friends, or only friend Wheein had genuinely stumbled upon to in this town. She didn’t take it for granted, in fact, she treasured their friendship, if she could call it that, very much. So, she looks up from where she’s sat, meeting Moonbyul in the eyes and not speaking any word except for a head tilt.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You look like a Jindo dog. </span>
  <span>Wanna</span>
  <span> hang out at the HT later? Usual time.” HT was code for Haven Town, a local diner that served all kinds of food. It had a modern ambience to it, the walls decorated with leaves and minimalist paintings. Sticky notes and polaroid photos crowded the bulletin board; it was the first thing a customer would see when they enter the diner. Students and workers in the area frequented the place. It was the ideal place to hang out. Wheein finished gathering belongings together and nodded at </span>
  <span>Moonbyul</span>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” she said, watching </span>
  <span>Moonbyul</span>
  <span> wave her goodbye whilst her attention still lingered on the pianist who was also making her leave. Only she might have been staring too hard because </span>
  <span>Ahn</span>
  
  <span>Hyejin</span>
  <span> looked at her direction. In that split second, million thoughts rushed into her head but the important ones were </span>
  <em>
    <span>should she </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>smile?</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>or that </span>
  <span>Hyejin</span>
  <em>
    <span> had an intimidating gaze,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>should I breathe, I can’t, </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>she’s</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> looking at my direction? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hyejin</span>
  <span> stared at her for a couple of seconds, and in those couple seconds, </span>
  <span>Wheein</span>
  <span> ended up half-</span>
  <span>assing</span>
  <span> a smile and then </span>
  <span>Hyejin</span>
  <span> looked away. Feeling shameful at the pianist’s retreating back, </span>
  <span>Wheein’s</span>
  <span> shoulder shrugged. The ground better </span>
  <span>swallow</span>
  <span> her whole right now.</span>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>—</span>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Friends was once an odd concept to her. She had her paintings and music. They gave her salvation while friends only imposed their idea of you and coerce you into acting like it. Uniformity. Wheein disliked that notion. She never felt privy to confining herself in spaces she knew she’d never fit in. Someone tried to be her friend once. An Amanda Jones. They had the same classes and everything so maybe it had been natural, fate or something akin to that. She failed to accept that. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She was washing her face at the comfort room once. Comfort rooms had always been a hotspot for gossip. If you locked yourself inside a cubicle for the whole day, you’d have enough information to blackmail the whole of the campus. At least that’s how it worked in New York as Wheein learned. Amanda Jones was sweet. That was the one nice trait Wheein could take of her, but then again, she heard. At the bathroom stall, of how Amanda actually resented her and only befriended her because the guys in the class had been fond of Wheein sometimes. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Wheein never gave it a second thought. She wasn’t going to give herself a hard time fitting into someone’s box. Which was why she had spent the last thirty minutes rehashing the whole event to her therapist. Her family recognized the distress she had been in enough. Nothing could possibly alert a house full of artists—visual and performing alike—about her painting a replica of Nemesis painting except it had been her to whom the justice will be delivered. Her mother screeched then. She heard it from the back of her mind, echoing like a tireless reminder.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her therapist only looked at her. As if waiting for her to say more then. As if any flesh in </span>
  <span>Wheein</span>
  <span> had the intention to add a sequel to her apparent suffering. The therapist tapped her pen on her notebook in a tempo. A waltz it seemed to Wheein. It was fascinating so she focused her thoughts on it, instead of leaving herself absentminded in the silence.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you blame them for how they acted?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Wheein</span>
  <span> gave it a few seconds of thought and then spoke, “No. I can’t blame them for something they cannot help,” She paused, thinking of her next words with caution. </span>
  <span>“...</span>
  <span>but I also won’t make the effort to help them understand otherwise.” And that was her mantra. Simply exist in her own plane without ostracizing anyone else’s. It felt safe. And what she was certain at was that she wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel safe.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>—</span>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Spring break slowly inched by the peripheral of her eyes. She couldn’t help but feel excitement at the thought of seeing cherry blossoms at the festival in the heart of the village. It had been too windy last time so she left with her parents early. But this year, they had work. And so </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wheein</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> was alone—well, not technically. She’s going to attend with her cousins, but they all had their own friends. Still, she went with them, trailing slowly at the back. Not far enough so they would think she was lost. Not close enough to hear much of their meaningless conversation. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She held a film camera in her hands, finding something interesting to her. The steps were cracked slabs of concrete held in place by the soil where the trees rooted themselves in. The path was enveloped by royal azalea, zinnia, and cherry blossoms. It wasn’t really ideal for one of her allergic cousins who wore a mask. The sacrifices for beauty indeed. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey, </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wheein</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wanna</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> go to the observatory with us?” One of her cousins asked. There was an interesting hilltop view of </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Jeonju</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> from that observatory. A scenery worth taking many photos of. But then, she took her time to look around her surroundings. Select families enjoying their morning walk by the park. Some sat on the benches, they were mostly alone like Wheein—yet they seemed peaceful with the company of the flowers. One of them was even sketching. That’s what she had done last year, she finds herself reminiscing. She’d sketched her parents admiring one of the trees. A back study, she called it. It was now framed in their house despite her objections because it had only been a rough sketch.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This year, she would take photos. Freeze the moment in time. With only her knowing the context of the shots. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wheein</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> smiled at her cousin, waving them off. “I’ll stay down here for a while. Maybe later, before the sun sets, I’ll go take photos up there.” </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay, we’ll just be up there. Just page one of us, okay?” </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wheein</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> nodded. She did have a pager with her. Her cheeks flush at the thought of almost forgetting about it. Her parents would have her head, and they would be extremely worried. She shakes the thought from her mind and finds herself being like those people in the movies, who sat by a bench and looked at the surroundings. She might look weird, honestly, and not what she imagined herself as. Still, it had been pleasant. A viceroy butterfly even landed at the tree she had been trying to capture. Four shots of it, with it in one focus until </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> flew away. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She took many more photos. A family. A backshot of herself. Self-timers were very helpful. A few kids with their bicycles passing by. That one had been blurry at most. The wind gradually got stronger each time it blew. It fascinated </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wheein</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>, because the spot she occupied had her silhouette surrounded in cherry blossoms. It deserved to be photographed too.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Standing up, she brushed away all the cherry blossoms that got to her, fingers weaving through her hair to brush it away from her face. The breeze felt pleasant on her skin. The summer dress she’d been wearing with her denim jacket proved to be a good decision for this weather. She finds herself wandering around, following the path without discerning where she will end up at. A lone cherry blossom tree sat in front of where she stood. But she wasn’t alone entirely. A girl, perhaps the same age as her, had been wearing a hanbok (that was really fascinating for </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wheein</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>, her hands immediately reaching inside her messenger bag for her camera). She had her back to </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wheein</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>, seemingly absorbed at the sight of the cherry blossoms slowly falling around her. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>With a click, </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wheein</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> had taken a photo of the moment. The girl hadn’t turned around yet. She might have taken a few more than what was allowed. Then in the last shot she had taken; the girl had turned around. Her cheeks flush and she almost dropped her film camera. There was a </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>reason lanyard</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> had to be worn</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>, after all. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. Instead, she stood there like a statue while the girl looked at her.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Were you taking a photo of the tree?”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“N-No—I-I mean, yes. But—the tree with you.” Wheein couldn’t speak Korean all of a sudden. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” The girl didn’t seem to mind her broken syntax and even smiled at her. Well, mostly to the tree, Wheein had just been delusional at this point.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Y-yeah. I’m sorry, if I took a photo without your permission.” Great, finally, a full sentence. She patted herself on the back for that feat. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The girl just smiled. But it didn’t reach her eyes. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wheein</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> found it odd but she was in no place to ask. Stranger photographer and all that. “I didn’t mind-” She held out one hand, tucking back the fabric that went past her upper limbs. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Hyejin</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>-ah!” A loud voice hollered from behind. It made </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wheein</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> turn around. The girl had retracted back her hand, then looked at the approaching figure with familiarity.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Unnie, this one became prettier.” The tone of the girl had been of apathy but her eyes shone, looking up at the cherry blossom tree that clearly towered over her/ She must’ve really liked spring. Her sister ran to the girl—Hyejin, if she heard it right. They were fairly the same height from Wheein’s view. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, I saw. Let’s go, we have to go to the observatory.” Her sister had also been wearing a hanbok. They looked quite the pair. It fascinated </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wheein</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> even more. She thought she’d just become one with the scenery—non-existent and one with the breeze that passed by. Honestly, she wanted that more than being referred to as the stranger who took her sister’s photo.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Did you make a new friend?” The sister tilted her head to </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wheein</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wheein</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> flushed even more. She was no friend. She wanted to run but her feet stayed plastered to the ground. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“She took a photo of the tree. Well, the tree including me.” The sister only nodded, as if understanding the vague response. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wheein</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>, thinking she was out of the </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>vice grip</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> of embarrassment, turned her back to the pair of siblings. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then she heard the girl’s voice, a little bit louder and surprisingly soft to the ears, “See you, stranger.” </span>
  </em>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i hope you wont be shy to show this fic some love and your thoughts on the comments &lt;3 i appreciate them a lot. also if you want to hit me up about this fic, i'd be more than happy to! im on twitter <span class="u"> @HWALI0N </span> or https://curiouscat.me/hwali0n</p><p> </p><p>  <i> will add names if involved intricately in the story--if not just tagged as side </i></p></blockquote></div></div>
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